The Chronicles of Lyra
by peace-and-war
Summary: Book 1: Dissension. Meredith Grey swore time and time again, that she would never be like her mother. Unfortunately to her third child, that is what she has become.


The Chronicles of Lyra

Summary: Meredith Grey swore time and time again, that she would never be like her mother. Unfortunately to her third child, that is what she has become.

Book 1: Dissension

Chapter 1: When it begins to fall apart

My mother swore time and time she would never be like her mother Ellis Grey. Unfortunately, unlike the fantastic mother by elder siblings received, I got the stone shell of Meredith Grey, and even though my father tried to compensate for it, it never seemed to work.

My name is Lyra Elizabeth Shepherd, third and youngest child of Meredith Grey and Derek Shepherd.

My sister Zola always tells me that she named me, I apparently loved listening to music when I was still in my mothers womb, and therefore the name Lyra, meaning of the song, came to Zola. She was also reading the His Dark Materials series at the time, so it kind of made sense.

Zola is currently studying at Oxford University on full scholarship due to her academic prowess; she is in her junior year, my brother Bailey is a senior in high school, on the varsity football and basketball teams, with a GPA of 3.9, and a choice of going to Yale, Harvard or Dartmouth, and then there is me.

Lyra.

The age gap between Bailey and myself is 5 years. However, I'm about to enter my freshman year in high school in September, a little over two months away. I skipped the fourth grade, because according to my teachers- I was far ahead of the curriculum anyway. My father agreed with the teachers- but I think this was the first time I realised that my mother just did not care what I could achieve. She didn't believe that moving me up a grade would achieve anything.

I learnt in the sixth grade, that no matter what report card grades I bought home, she would always want me to do better. I did not really have an aptitude for sport, so my grades were always less than ordinary. Everything else was generally an A, except for music.

That was where I excelled. I loved my violin more than anything. I remember seeing it in Sophia's room, when Zola and Sophia were having a sleepover. My mother took both Zola and I to Arizona and Callie's, and Sophia was playing her violin. I remember the smell of the wood, and the way the strings felt beneath my skin. I loved moving the bow across the strings and feeling the music in my body. I remember going home and telling Dad that I wanted to play the violin. I was four at the time, and the next day he enrolled me in music lessons.

I don't want to go into medicine like my sister will, and my brother probably will, I want to go to Julliard. I want to play in concert halls, and make audiences feel. I want to feel the music flow through my soul and manifest in notes and song. I want to play Bach and Mozart and perform like the masters themselves.

My first recital, at age 6, my father and my brother and sister were sitting in the front row. My mother had chosen to take up an extra surgery, and therefore missed my recital.

My father was furious, he knew how excited I was, and how hard I tried, and how I practiced, and how much _I wanted her to be there. _ I barely spoke two words to her in the weeks that followed.

This pattern followed through my childhood and prepubescent years.

It didn't bother me until tonight- I had a school recital, to farewell all the eighth grade music students, and after the recital, one of the music teachers from the high school I'd be attending in the fall offered me a chance of a lifetime. He wanted me to play in the Seattle Preparatory senior concert in October. Juniors are barely offered a chance, let alone a freshman who didn't even go there yet. This could jumpstart my music career. But yet again, the one person who I wanted to prove everything to, the one person I wanted to hear my music wasn't there.

We got home, my mothers car was parked in the driveway. My heart just about tore in two, realistically I did not know how long she had been home, but it still hurt more than anything. I ran upstairs, Bailey was two steps ahead of me. My father walked into the family study and he began to yell at my mother. I froze on the stairs and heard what was yet another argument begin.

"Lyra has been offered to play at the high school concert! She doesn't even go there yet and they recognize her talent! This recital meant everything to her, and she was given a fantastic opportunity because of it, but again _you missed it."_

I could feel the venom in my fathers' voice. My mothers' lack of attention to me was a point of contention with him, and it probably hurt him more sometimes that she abandoned me, than it actually hurt me.

My mother stormed out of the study, my father hot on her heels.

"My surgery was more important, you know that!" Meredith spat in his face.

"More important than your daughter? Meredith, you've missed countless recitals of Lyra's, just because she's not you, doesn't mean you shouldn't take it out on her." My mother just spun around and stared Dad in the face.

"She's an exact fucking carbon copy of my mother Derek!"

All I saw in my fathers face was pity as he muttered his next words;

"And you're the one acting like your mother to her."

My mother face went bright red, and in a very low quiet voice she muttered;

"Fuck you, Derek."

My mother stormed out of the hall, out of the front door.

"Go swim in your fucking tequila bottle Meredith. But don't fucking come home tonight."

She turned around and watched as my father threw the tequila bottle my mother kept in the study at the wall. It shattered on the floor about three feet in front of her, with the tequila seeping into the shag-pile rug, the glass sparkling but also showing their jagged edges. Somewhat like the person my mother is.

About ten seconds later I heard wheels screeching and I knew that Mom's car left the drive, and my father stormed into the study and slammed the door. I knew it wasn't personal, but it made me feel abandoned somewhat.

I walked out the front door and down to the lake, watching the stars sparkle against the rippling waves, and the cool breeze whipping the plants around the lake.

I sat on the dock for a while, not caring how long I'd been out there. My father sat down next to me, and muttered two words, as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him, to comfort me, and to comfort himself.

"I'm sorry."

For some reason this fight felt different, I saw the light in my fathers' eyes go out. My mother has done some pretty crappy things of late, but I think she finally pushed my father over the edge.

This felt like the beginning of the end, and I'm not sure what's going to happen next.


End file.
